In ancient times, they say, there lived a horse connoisseur, an atbegi, who unerringly recognized a true racehorse. He had a horse named Kariboz, who grew old alongside his master. From the time Kariboz was still a shearer and right up until his old age, he was renowned as a racehorse, unrivaled at any of the large or small toi (fairs) held by the surrounding clans. Upon seeing Kariboz, many festival organizers would hand over the prize without even letting their horses race.

When Kariboz grew old and decrepit, the fame of Saltory became commonplace. Wherever the horses raced, Saltory would surge ahead from the start and, without even a trace of dust from his hooves, would cross the finish line first. When Kariboz turned forty, he was already faltering and noticeably frail. And then, at one large toi, Saltory competed in the baiga. Seeing the horses swaying gently, kicking their legs high and chomping at their bits, bound off to the race, Kariboz raced straight from the pasture to his master's house, stuck his head under the awning, and began shifting impatiently from foot to foot. The master thought, "My sacred horse must have completely lost his mind," but, unable to bear his anxiety, he said, "Does he really want to go racing again?" He saddled the horse, placed one of his sons on it, and set it off after the many horses already off to the baiga.

As soon as he left the yard, Kariboz shot forward like an arrow, quickly overtaking the horses and falling into line. Having reached the appointed place, the horses were turned back. Saltory, as was his custom, immediately jumped a full length ahead and for a long time refused to let anyone approach him. But soon the finish line was in sight, and the shouts of the assembled crowd could be heard. And then the decrepit Kariboz's back seemed to straighten, his blood surged, and he began to press ever harder against Saltory. A bare-headed boy, riding Kariboz, neck and neck with Saltory, shouted:

"Don't fight or push,
Don't give up on Saltory.

If you do fall behind,
I won't take the rich man's prize.

This Kariboz is still
not out of the game!"

and he lashed his horse with his whip. Kariboz darted forward with all his might, took off in a wide stride, and, leaving Saltory behind like a tangled horse, crossed the finish line first, a full length ahead.

But he had barely reached the finish line when he fell dead. The people who knew Kariboz saw in this another quality inherent in a true racehorse, and took it as a good sign: his meat was immediately taken apart piece by piece, straight from the knife.